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“You can get in on your own, or I’ll throw you in.” I grimace but don’t budge. “Throw you in it is then.”
She wraps her arms around my body like she’s going to pick me up, and I give in.
“Fine,” I shout, shoving her away from me. “I’ll get a fucking shower.” Spooks straightens and crosses her arms over her chest. “I said I’ll get in.”
“I heard you. But I think I’ll just stay right here to make sure.”
“Cunt,” I mumble as I strip my clothes off.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Stepping over the edge of the tub, I can’t stop the moan that escapes as the warm water cascades down my body. Spooks snickers, but wisely keeps her mouth shut. After a few minutes, I hear Spooks leave the bathroom, but I don’t hear the sound of my bedroom door open, which tells me I’m still going to have to deal with her when I’m done.
I stay in the shower far longer than it takes to get clean, only getting out when the water turns cold. With a towel wrapped around my chest, I glance in the mirror. My face is a swirl of yellow and green and the stitched cut is slowly healing. Nate told me when he stopped by yesterday that the stitches could probably come out in a few days.
Grabbing a second towel, I wrap it around my hair and stalk into the bedroom. Spooks is sitting on my bed, which now has fresh sheets, and there’s a small stack of clothes folded next to her. My cut is on the top.
“Get dressed and meet me in the hall,” she says. She stands to leave me alone to do her bidding, but doubles back and snags my knife off the nightstand. “You can have this once you’re done.”
Once I’m alone, I finish drying off and get dressed. I’ll never admit it, but it feels good to do something normal. This past week has been… difficult. I know holing up in my room was stupid, but I couldn’t work up the motivation to do anything else. Harlow made sure I ate, and she only accomplished that because the gnawing feeling in my stomach was getting on my nerves.
I slip my cut on and open the door to find Spooks leaning against the wall. “Now what?” I ask.
“Now the fun begins.” She hands me my sheath, but there’s no knife in it. When I narrow my eyes on her, she shrugs. “You’ll get it soon, I promise.” She pushes off the wall and starts down the steps. “C’mon, P. Time’s wastin’.”
I roll my eyes but follow her down the stairs. The main room of the clubhouse is busy, especially for a weekday.
Is it a weekday?
Shit, I don’t even know.
“Ignore everyone and keep walking,” Spooks instructs without looking back at me.
We head outside, and she leads me to my favorite place: the targets. The leaves rustle in the trees, and I instantly feel a sense of calm wash over me. Spooks stops on the throwing line and turns to hand me my knife.
“How’d you know?” I ask, taking the knife from her.
“What? That this is what you needed?”
“Yeah.”
“What sane, rational woman doesn’t need to throw sharp objects at targets every once in a while?” she counters.
* * *
“Do you feel better?”
I hop up on the stool next to Harlow and grin. “Much,” I admit.
I don’t know how long I stayed at the targets, but my throwing arm is sore, and the sun is starting to dip below the horizon.
“Can I get a water, Fiona?” I ask our bartender.
“Make that two,” Harlow adds. “And see if there’s any more pizza left in the kitchen for P.”
“You got it.” Fiona sets two bottles of water in front of us before going into the kitchen. She comes back with a full plate. “There were only four slices, but I can send one of the girls to get more if you want.”
“Four slices is plenty, thanks.”
